


Red Wire, Red Light

by dbhprincess



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Connor, Boys In Love, Comfort, Established Relationship, Feelings, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Self-Lubrication, Top Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27741943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dbhprincess/pseuds/dbhprincess
Summary: When Connor struggles with the frustrations of a difficult case and his feelings of failure, Hank is determined to find a way to help him decompress and relax. Connor's solution is to unplug the red wire.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 14
Kudos: 108





	Red Wire, Red Light

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was first written as a [thread](https://twitter.com/dbhprincess/status/1329141763861225472) on Twitter and was inspired by the amazing [ Jolli_Bean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jolli_Bean).

It wasn’t the first time Connor had mouthed off to Hank, and Hank knew it wouldn’t be the last. But it was the first time Hank had heard that particular tone in Connor’s voice, that frustration mixed with more than a hint of desperation. It was the desperation that made Hank pause and shut his mouth against the scathing retort that simmered on his lips – the desperation and the red LED that wouldn’t stop spinning.

They were both tired, exhausted even, after another endless interrogation that got them nowhere, another failure in a ceaseless search to find the missing piece. The pressure to solve this case, both from within the department and throughout the city, had made them brittle, and Connor seemed on the verge of cracking.

So Hank just shrugged and said, “Come on, let’s go home,” and walked out of the precinct to the car, listening for Connor’s following footsteps. He would take the long way home to give them time to decompress a little in the car before they had a talk. Hank had learned early in life that cooler heads prevailed.

The drive home was silent, as Hank had anticipated, save for the quiet jazz he’d queued up as soon as he started the engine. Connor kept his face pointed away, and Hank couldn’t see his LED reflected in the side window, but he knew it wasn’t blue.

When they entered the dark house after being away from it for fourteen hours straight, Hank suggested Connor take a shower while he heated up a quick dinner and took care of Sumo, who hadn’t been out since the dog walker had been by hours before. They parted from each other in the hallway, Connor turning right into the bathroom and Hank going left into the bedroom to change into sweats and a t-shirt. As he grabbed Sumo’s leash and a jacket on the way out the front door, he heard the water turn on, and he was glad.

Becoming a deviant had affected how Connor’s tactile processors interpreted sensation; he could now feel the information gathered by his sensors, and not just comprehend and record its material existence. Hot showers were one of the first things Connor had decided he liked the feeling of, and Hank encouraged him to indulge whenever he liked, water bill be damned. Connor always came out of the bathroom in a better mood than when he entered, a cloud of steam often trailing in his wake.

It wasn’t until after Sumo had had his walk and Hank his dinner that Connor finally emerged from the bathroom, dressed in his favorite of Hank’s old band shirts and his softest pair of sweatpants. The air that followed him out was so thick with steam that Hank could feel it from his seat on the couch. He knew there’d be no warm shower for him anytime soon. But that was just fine, because he had something else in mind just then.

Connor looked a bit better; the tightness in his face had softened and the tense line of his shoulders had loosened. But there was still a deep weariness dragging down the corners of his eyes and mouth. Hank patted the couch cushion next to him. “Come and sit, baby. We need to talk.”

Connor nodded with resignation and dropped gracefully onto the couch, one leg tucked up beneath him. He turned his body to face Hank and sighed. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was out of line, personally and professionally. You don’t deserve to bear the brunt of my bad mood.”

Hank twisted so he could take Connor’s left hand and fold it between his own. “Apology accepted.” He squeezed those warm, elegant fingers and felt the gold band there press into his palm. “But it’s more than a bad mood, Connor. This case has you wound so tight, I worry you’re going to seize up your joints or something. You’re like a ticking time bomb, and I don’t want to see you go off. Something’s got to give, Con.”

Connor’s LED flared red again, and it hurt Hank to see it.

“Well, it’s not going to be the case that gives, Hank,” Connor replied with a pinch in his brow. “It’s too important. We’re not giving up on it just because I’m having a hard time controlling my emotions.”

Hank looked down at Connor’s hand as it fisted in the cradle of his palms. Connor still liked to fiddle with his coin. Beyond helping keep his mind sharp and his body calibrated, the repetitive motion helped him relax; the predictable bump-bump-flip quieted his mental processes when they shifted into overdrive unnecessarily; the rolling caress of the coin’s edge soothed his overstimulated sensors. Hank knew all this, of course, because ever since that cold, clear morning in the snow, he’d made it his business to learn everything he could about the strange, wonderful, new man in his life. And so, Hank ran his thumb slowly across Connor’s knuckles. He could be Connor’s comfort tonight.

“I’m not telling you to give up on the case.” Hank paused when he felt Connor’s fist begin to loosen and his fingers uncurl. He looked up to see that that red light was now circling a stuttering yellow. He continued stroking his knuckles. “We all struggle with our emotions. But the thing is, it’s not them that we need to control. It’s how we let them affect us. It’s okay to feel shitty feelings, but it’s not okay to vent them onto others, or ourselves. I’m telling you that we need to figure out a way for you to let off some steam, to relax, to stop trying so damn hard to be perfect all the time.”

Connor opened his mouth the speak, no doubt to argue, but Hank raised a hand to hold him off. “Don’t bother denying it. You may once have been expected to be perfect, but no one ever becomes who they’re expected to be. They become who they already are. And you have, Con. You’ve become exactly who you were supposed to be all along.”

The pinch between Connor’s eyebrows had smoothed, and the tiniest ghost of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. But his eyes were still hollow, as if the turmoil roiling inside had worn away the contentment that usually filled them.

Quietly, Connor asked, “Can we try something?”

Hank would try damn near anything to get that yellow light to turn blue again. “Sure, baby. What do you have in mind?”

The knuckles Hank was still rubbing suddenly felt smoother beneath his thumb. He glanced down and saw Connor’s synthskin peel back from his fingers, his hand shining white to the wrist. The pads of his fingertips glowed blue from within as his middle finger traced the crease down the center of Hank’s palm.

“I want to touch you. I want to overwhelm my sensors with a constant stream of data from you.” Connor’s stuttering LED settled to a slow roll as he watched his finger trace the veins at Hank’s wrist. “I want to stop thinking about anything but the not-shitty feeling of you and me. I’m not perfect, and I can’t be. I know that, and it’s hard for me. But we’re perfect together, aren’t we, Hank?” He raised those big, brown eyes of his again, and Hank could hardly breathe past the swelling in his chest.

When he nodded dumbly, Connor continued. “My mind is constantly recording and processing information, and it’s nearly impossible to turn it off. But if I shut down sources of input, there’s less distraction and I can more easily control what I focus on. And right now, I want to focus on you.”

And that was terribly flattering, but not particularly illuminating. “I must be missing something here, because you seem pretty focused on me already, Connor,” Hank said, and he was rewarded with a small eyeroll.

“Obviously, I am,” Connor retorted, and the dusting of amusement in his tone was a welcome sound. “What I want to do – what I want to try – is to disconnect my ocular components so that I can’t see. And then I want to touch you all over and focus on only that one stream of data.”

Hank frowned. He was glad that Connor was listening to him, happy that he had said “I want” more than five times in less than five minutes, and thrilled that Connor apparently wanted to use him as an oversized stress ball, but he was understandably a bit worried, too. “You want me to blind you by yanking out a piece of your body? I can’t imagine what could possibly go wrong.”

Connor slid his hand out from between Hank’s, then wrapped both around Hank’s forearms. “You won’t be yanking out anything. It’s perfectly safe, Hank.” He leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on Hank’s cheek. “And I trust you. You know that, right?”

Hank grunted, then grumbled. “Course I do.”

“And I know you trust me, so trust me with this. I want to do this with no visual distractions.”

Hank smirked and leaned back, swept his gaze across his own torso, then looked up and waggled his eyebrows. Connor laughed. It was small, but it was real, and Hank patted himself on the back for having inspired it.

“Yes, you’re a veritable visual feast, and I’m going to be missing out,” Connor said as he rotated on the couch cushion and presented his back to Hank. He reached up and opened the port at the back of his neck. “Now, unplug the red wire, please.”

Hank didn’t startle at the spark that lit the silver metal of Connor’s spine when he dipped his fingertips into the port. He was no stranger to Connor’s inner workings; he’d had his fingers in more of his openings than he’d had in all of his previous partners combined. However, he’d never disabled anything before, and he didn’t quite know how he felt about that.

But no guts, no glory, he supposed, as he found the wire he was looking for and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. “Do I just, uh…pull it?”

Connor answered in his default “explaining” voice. “If you apply a gentle, but steady downward force, the wire should disconnect from its socket.”

Now it was Hank’s turn to roll his eyes, though Connor was facing away and couldn’t see it. “So, you’re saying I should pull it, then.”

Connor snorted. “Yes, Hank, just pull it.”

So Hank pulled. Gently, like Connor said, with his other hand at the base of Connor’s neck where it met his shoulder as support. It took a significant amount of force to loosen, but that made sense, considering how resilient his body had been made to be. When it popped free, there was another spark, and Hank felt a frisson of electricity through his thumb where it touched the live end of the wire.

Under his other hand, Connor shuddered. “Close the port, please,” he said, with a thin layer of static in his voice.

After the port clicked closed, Connor swiveled his body around to face Hank. He blinked a couple times, no doubt swiping away notifications, or warning alerts, or whatever his HUD was probably blaring at him in angry, red letters. But his eyes were still warm and brown when he asked softly, “Is this weird?”

Hank shook his head to answer, then mentally smacked himself for being an idiot, because Connor couldn't see him, of course. “Lots of things about you are weird,” he joked, since Connor knew that he loved all of his quirks and oddities.

Connor reached out, and Hank took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Too weird?” he pressed, still hesitant.

Hank swiped his free thumb high along Connor’s cheekbone, just below his eye. “Nah, baby. You’re just what you’re supposed to be, remember?” He squeezed Connor’s hand. “Now, come here and grope me like you promised.” Then he smiled as he watched that yellow light finally cycle to blue.

But Connor didn’t come closer, as Hank expected. Instead, he gripped Hank’s hand tighter and stood from the couch, pulling Hank up with him.

“I like this shirt,” he said, as he fingered the bottom edge with one hand and rubbed Hank’s side with the other. “It’s soft.” The hand on Hank’s love handle squeezed. “And a little snug. I like the way your body looks in this shirt. But since I can’t see you right now, I guess the shirt can go.” Connor grabbed the bottom of the t-shirt with both hands, and with an admirable efficiency of movement, had it off of Hank and onto the coffee table before Hank had time to think about helping him.

Connor took a step closer and placed his hands on Hank’s hips, then slid them behind and down, over the seat of his sweats. “These pants, however,” he began, as he kneaded the meat of Hank’s backside, “are an atrocity. They’re all stretched out and baggy, and they hide the good stuff. They definitely have to go.”

Before Hank knew it, his sweats were around his knees and he was being pushed back down on the couch with purpose. Then the pants had joined his shirt on the coffee table, and Connor was once again joining him on the couch. On his lap, this time.

Hank raised his hands to Connor’s hips as he straddled either side of his thighs. The thin fabric of his boxers bunched up to his crotch. “What about you?” he asked, tugging at Connor’s t-shirt.

Connor moved Hank’s hands back to his hips. “My clothes stay on. This is about me touching you, and I don’t want the distraction of your hands on my skin. My skin is very sensitive, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hank answered, and Connor yelped when he quickly reached under his shirt and tweaked a nipple. “So what do I do with my hands, then?”

“You sit back, relax, and keep them right where I put them,” Connor answered with a predatory grin. It was the brightest look Hank had seen on his face in…weeks, really. They should have had this conversation a lot sooner.

Then Connor settled himself deeper into Hank’s lap and placed his palms flat against his pecs, and any thought of conversation fled Hank’s mind. The look of intense concentration on Connor’s face was almost startling, but then again, Connor had said he wanted to make Hank the center of his attention. Hank certainly felt like he had a target on him, like he was one of Connor’s missions, his goal, a prize to be won. And hell, to Connor, maybe he was.

“I like your chest,” Connor said, and the purr in his voice lit a flush across Hank’s skin. He knew the synthskin had receded once again from Connor’s hands when he felt the contrast between the cool plastic of Connor’s chassis and the flaring warmth of his chest.

“Are you blushing, Hank?” Connor asked with a knowing smile, the pads of his fingers beginning to glow blue as he threaded them through Hank’s coarse chest hair.

Hank pinched his hip. “You tell me, brat. You know every damn twitch my body makes, whether you can see it or not, so don’t bother trying to make me narrate for you.”

“Alright,” Connor sighed softly, with a roll of his hips. His fingers spread wide across Hank’s chest, then pressed into his skin – ten points of electric contract. “My sensors tell me that your external epidermal temperature has increased 1.2 degrees since I complimented your chest.” Connor laid his palms flat. “But I can also _feel_ the heat radiating off your skin, and I like that data source much more.”

With another languid roll of his hips, Connor trailed his hands down to Hank’s belly. “Each time I shift in your lap, your abdominal muscles tense.” Connor swayed again, holding his hands firmly against Hank’s abs to feel the muscles contract. “You’re very strong, Hank. That’s one of my favorite things about you. You’re big and powerful, but you don’t push your weight around unless it’s needed. You could hold me down, but never without my permission.”

Connor leaned forward, pressing his whole torso against Hank’s, from groin to chest, and peppered a line of kisses up Hank’s neck to just below his ear. “You make me feel safe,” he whispered, soft, yet hoarse. And though Hank’s body was rapidly heating, he shivered.

Leaning back – undulating really – Connor curled his four fingers under the roll of fat that hung over the waistband of Hank’s boxers and squeezed. “I know you don’t like this, but I do. I like that there’s a lot of you for me to get lost in. I like that our bodies are so different, but we fit. We’re perfect together, every time.”

With the next roll of his hips, Connor wrapped both his arms around Hank’s waist and dipped low, running his tongue from Hank’s navel to the dip in his collarbone. His LED flashed, then turned in lazy, yellow circles. Hank clenched his hands on Connor’s hips.

Nuzzling his face against the scruff on Hank’s neck, Connor crooned, “The analysis sensors in my tongue are processing the chemical composition of your skin and any trace matter on it, breaking down molecules to their base elements. They’re telling me there’s an abundance of water, sodium, potassium, calcium, and magnesium. But I can taste your sweat, too, and I know it’s there because of me, because I’ve succeeded in turning you on, and that turns _me_ on, Hank.”

Connor tipped his chin up and nipped Hank’s earlobe, pulling a groan from Hank's throat. He pressed his palm to Hank’s chest, to just left of the center. “Your heart’s pounding, Hank. My fingers can read the electrical activity of your heart. I know it’s rate and rhythm, and the status of the blood flow through it.” Then Connor removed his hand and put his ear it its place. “But I can also hear it. I can feel it beating through you, and reverberating through me. It’s amazing what we can do to each’s bodies, isn’t it, Hank?”

Connor’s tongue took a swipe at the nipple closest to his mouth, and Hank’s hips jerked upward. Connor looked at him with a smirk. His light was blinking rapidly now, and his pupils had dilated – both sure signs of his arousal. But Hank wanted him panting and his internal fans whirring with the effort to cool down his systems.

Hank lifted his hands from Connor’s hips and cradled them against his beloved face. “Seems to me,” he said, his voice low and rough, “that you’re the only one ‘doing’ right now. How about we take this to the bedroom? See if we can’t work together to overwhelm those sensors of yours, hm?” And then he kissed Connor’s pretty mouth and swallowed his husky moan.

Connor quickly untangled himself from Hank’s lap and pulled him toward the bedroom with such obvious intent that Sumo didn’t even bother to raise his head from his bed in the corner of the room.

Hank would’ve been concerned about Connor running them into a wall or something, but he figured he had the house mapped out in 3D in his brain or was using his funky EAP (extra-android perception) to navigate. Either way, he got them into the bedroom safely.

When Hank stepped through the doorway and flicked on the light, Connor stopped, turned, and cocked his head in that adorable way he had when he was waiting for the answer to a question he may or may not have actually asked. Apparently, it was Hank’s turn to run the show.

“Alright, Con,” Hank said as he led them to the foot of the bed, “it’s your turn to get naked.”

Connor just stood there, blinking sightless eyes at him. Hank knew it was a simulated reflex, a means to avoid the uncanny valley, that no android actually needed to blink. But he also knew the dreamy droop of eyelids over those warm, brown eyes, the soft, almost shy way Connor’s lashes fluttered down against his skin, was real. Because Hank felt the exact same way.

“You’re gonna make me do it, aren’t you?” Hank asked, though it wasn’t really a question. Connor smiled.

“Well, if I have to,” Hank sighed, as if baring the alluring body of his gorgeous husband was a hardship.

Connor was standing stock still, no doubt listening for any movement Hank made in an attempt to pinpoint his position. But Connor had made it clear that what he wanted tonight was to focus on touch and how Hank felt against him, so Hank stepped forward into his space, close enough to share body heat, to share breaths, simulated or otherwise.

Connor’s right hand twitched, then stilled, when Hank slid his fingers under the hem of Connor’s t-shirt and raised it up, deliberately grazing his knuckles along the fabricated muscles and lean lines of his abdomen. When his hands reached Connor’s ribs, he slid them out to the side, bumping against his inner arms, encouraging him to raise them over his head. He continued lifting the shirt up Connor’s chest, with a slow drag over his rib cage. Then, with a shift of his hand position and a push and a tug, the shirt was on the floor, and Hank’s lips were on Connor’s mouth.

But only for a moment, only for one startled gasp from Connor, before Hank pulled back, his hands on Connor’s waistband, thumbs slipping under the elastic to rub the sensitive skin stretched over his hipbones, fingers spreading wide across the sweet dip of his lower back. Then they, too, dipped under the waistband of Connor’s sweats and edged along the top seam of his boxer briefs, back and forth: a question.

Connor nodded eagerly. “Yes, Hank. Please.”

And that was all that was needed for the rest of Connor’s clothes to join his shirt of the floor and for him to be standing naked before Hank, pale skin nearly glowing in the low bedroom light and LED shining blue.

Hank walked around him and yanked the entire bedspread off the bed, bunching it on the floor behind Connor’s legs. Connor flinched, startled, but he waited silently for Hank’s next move. Yes, this was definitely Hank’s show now.

“Get on the bed, Connor,” Hank said, with a hint of command in his voice, and watched Connor shiver at the tone. “Get on your back, and get comfortable, because you’re gonna be there for a while.”

Immediately, Connor sat down and scrambled backward with enthusiasm. He lay on his back against the pillows, with his knees bent up, feet flat on the mattress. As Hank watched, he spread himself out like a feast to be savored. Or devoured. Hank intended to do both.

“Look at you,” he said, pitching his voice low because he knew Connor liked that. “You’re gorgeous, Connor.”

Hank bent down and wrapped his hand around Connor’s ankle. Connor’s light pulsed yellow in surprise, then settled on a rolling, processing blue as Hank dragged his palm up his calf, fingers curling under his knee, before spreading wide across the outside of his thigh. Connor’s own hands fluttered, then settled restlessly on the sheets beneath him.

Hank kneeled on the bed at Connor’s feet and gave the same, slow treatment to his other leg. By the time he reached the top of the second thigh, Connor’s fingertips were forming divots in the mattress and Hank could hear his breathing. He trailed both hands from the outside of those sculpted thighs to the inside, then pushed out, encouraging Connor to spread his legs open and make room for him. With a sharp intake of breath that released on a sigh, Connor complied readily. Hank rewarded his responsiveness with a kiss to the side of each knee, and Connor hummed.

The sight before him held Hank transfixed. Though he’d seen it many times, Connor’s breathtaking body, shared willingly and ardently, alive and thrumming, would never cease to enthrall him. He rubbed his hands down the sensitive skin of Connor’s thighs, down toward his ass, until each thumb kneaded into a plush cheek. Connor squirmed, but remained quiet, his LED fully yellow again. For a moment, Hank spread those cheeks with his thumbs, admiring Connor’s puckered hole, before his hands moved on. That was for later.

Hank’s fingers continued upward and crested the mound of Connor’s pubic area. He had asked Connor about it once, about why Cyberlife had given him an asshole but no dick. He’d explained in his matter-of-fact way that pseudo- anuses and rectums were built into the base model design for all androids, for the purpose of sexual activity. But genitals did not come standard, as they were available in a variety of forms and were meant to be customized. As a prototype, Connor was not given any, and he hadn’t felt the desire the obtain any since becoming deviant.

Hank loved Connor’s beautiful, bare pubic plate. He loved how that smooth expanse felt under his callused hands and how it lit from within when he fingered its surrounding seams. Hank liked that Connor was happy with his body. And he liked to amuse himself with the thought that Connor’s junk was Hank’s treasure; he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Hank bent and touched his lips between Connor’s legs, and Connor’s hips jerked. He teased Connor’s synthskin with his beard and his mouth until it melted away beneath his fingers, leaving his pelvic area gleaming white and the seams of his pubic plate exposed. Lightly skimming the tip of his forefinger against the seam at the crease of Connor’s thigh, Hank watched the blue glow ignite and dim again along his finger’s path. His tongue followed behind, licking a wet trail from the top of Connor’s left thigh and up to his stomach, where Hank dotted kisses across to the other side.

His hands now gripping Connor’s hips, Hank made a short detour upward to just below Connor’s navel, where his skin was still on, and sucked the mole there into his mouth. Connor gasped, and his arms jerked up off the bed, seemingly reaching for Hank’s head. But he quickly stopped himself and pressed his arms back onto the bed.

As Hank continued on his path, licking down the seam above Connor’s right thigh, that blue light glowing behind his eyelids, Connor wiggled in his hands, breathing harder, and sighed. “Hank?” he asked, and the huskiness of his voice grazed the nerves along Hank’s spine, shooting sparks low in his gut.

Hank hummed his reply, as his mouth was already occupied. “Hmm?” He dragged his tongue along the center of the bottom seam of the plate, and Connor moaned. So he dug his tongue in harder.

“Can we– hngh. C-Can we try something else?” Connor was beginning to pant, and Hank was _delighted_.

Hank stilled and raised his head, brow furrowed. “You don’t want to do this anymore?”

“No!” Connor nearly yelped. Then continued more quietly, “No, I very much want to keep doing this. I just would like to try something else we haven’t tried before. But I don’t know if you’re going to like it.”

Hank squeezed Connor’s hips, as an encouragement, and just because he wanted to. “Okay, Con. Lay it on me.”

“I want to try disabling my voluntary motor functions,” Connor said, and he held his breath.

Hank blinked. That was certainly not something they’d done before. “Um…okay?”

Connor’s hands picked at the sheets. He was nervous about this, so Hank gave his hips another squeeze. “If I can’t move, I won’t have to think as much. I won’t be able to physically manipulate or control anything that’s happening to me. I won’t have to plan my actions. I can put myself entirely in your hands and just feel what I’m experiencing instead of thinking about it.”

Hank searched Connor’s face. His sightless eyes had found Hank’s with unerring precision, and Hank could see the need inside Connor that radiated out of him. Hank was no therapist, and he didn’t have the psychologist’s handbook Connor probably had in his head, but he’d always been good at reading people, at seeing beneath their skin and recognizing what made them tick. Maybe that’s why he’d found it so easy to change his opinion about androids once he met Connor; he saw the person between the wires, the soul that flowed through thirium veins. It just took him a few days to realize it. And thankfully, he had.

Hank reached for Connor’s hand on the bed, and Connor immediately threaded their fingers together. “That makes sense, Connor. But is it safe?”

Connor nodded. “I’ll maintain movement in my head, so I’ll still be able to speak, and I’ll be able to enable movement anywhere else at any time, so it’s safe.” He paused. “But you’d have to do all the work. It would be very selfish of me.”

Hank raised Connor’s hand to his lips and kissed each fingertip, heart warming when they glowed from his touch. “Connor, making you feel good, helping you feel better, isn’t work. It’s play.” Though Connor remained still, Hank could see the tension relax from his body. He kissed Connor’s thumb. “So, do I get to pull on any more wires, or what?”

Connor smiled. “Sorry, you won’t need to use your hands for this. I’m going to disable the functions internally.”

“Well, damn,” Hank sighed, “I was hoping to get finger-deep in you again.”

“Of course you were, Hank,” Connor winked. “Aren’t you always?”

In retaliation for that impertinence, Hank stuck two of Connor’s fingers into his mouth and sucked vigorously. Connor’s lips dropped open, LED stuttering hard. Hank smirked and mumbled around the fingers, “Always, you menace.”

“Stop distracting me, Hank,” Connor whined.

Hank pulled Connor’s fingers from his mouth. “I thought that’s what you wanted me to do, Con. Thought you wanted to focus on only me.”

Connor tugged his hand back and Hank let him go. He was panting lightly again and making a visible effort to slow it down. “I do. But I’ve also got a plan. Now, stop touching me for a moment and let me concentrate.”

Hank backed off with his hands raised and a grin on his face and watched Connor lie completely flat on his back, arms by his sides, and lock his legs in their current bent and open position. The synthskin over his pelvis reformed. After he settled, nothing more appeared to happen outwardly. But Connor was by nature a fidgety sort of person, constantly assessing his environment and processing and calibrating, so his sudden stillness was obvious to anyone who knew him as well as Hank did. Except, no one knew him as well as Hank, did they?

“Are you all set now, Con?” he asked, hands wrapping over Connor’s knees, which he was kneeling between.

Connor blinked twice, then nodded. “Yes. You may proceed.”

Hank snorted. “God, I love it when you talk dirty to me.” He pinched the underside of Connor’s thigh, and his leg twitched. “Hey, I thought you couldn’t move.”

“I disabled my voluntary motor functions,” Connor stated in his explaining voice again, “not my involuntary functions. My body will still respond to stimuli. I just won’t be controlling any of it.”

“Gotcha. Good to know.” Hank lazily dragged his hands down Connor’s thighs, then up to his knees again. “Now, where was I?”

Connor batted his lashes, suddenly coy. “I believe you were exploring a particular region of my body with your tongue. I do not believe you completed mapping it out in its entirety.”

“No, I suppose I didn’t. But I think I’m going to set out for some new territory right now. See what there is to see,” Hank said, and Connor hmphed in annoyance. Hank kissed that mole below his navel again. “All in good time, baby.”

“In good time” meant in Hank’s time, and Hank had all the time in the world to devote to the man who meant everything to him. So he took his sweet time, shifting around the bed, investigating every hill and valley, every shadowed crease and smooth plane of Connor’s body with his fingers, his palms, his beard, his mouth, his teeth, and his tongue.

At one point, when Hank lifted Connor’s arm to nibble on the surprisingly sensitive bend in his elbow, Connor turned his head, eyes searching for an answer he couldn’t see. “Is this still not too weird?”

Hank paused his feasting and laid a hand on the center of Connor’s chest, over his thirium pump regulator. “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” he asked, but it was a rhetorical question, because Hank knew he was. Connor was breathing fast, his LED was spinning a solid yellow, and somewhere deep, an internal cooling fan had whirred to life.

“Obviously,” Connor answered, like the smartass he was.

Hank resumed his nibbling. “Then it’s not too weird. Stop thinking so much, Connor. You wanted to stop thinking, remember?”

Hank understood Connor’s concern, of course. It was a certainly a unique experience for Hank, Connor lying mostly still beneath him, participating only through twitches and shudders, sighs and groans. But it was satisfying, too, because Hank could lavish every ounce of his attention on Connor without interference. When Connor had his hands on Hank, he could be a powerful distraction, but now Hank could do whatever he wanted. And what he wanted was to drive Connor absolutely wild.

Out on the couch, Connor had made Hank crazy with a little touch and a lot of words. Having his desirability – as Connor saw it, anyway – cataloged so thoroughly had heated Hank’s blood as it welled through his pounding heart. Connor had always been good with words, had always been free with expressing exactly what he was thinking and how he felt. Connor was a talker, but Hank was a doer. So, his words of affirmation were spoken through acts of service as he touched the places that made Connor shiver, and through his gift of the time he spent there until Connor moaned.

By the time Hank turned his attention to Connor’s thirium pump regulator – a component Hank knew from experience was highly sensitive – Connor was growing frenzied beneath him: twitching and jerking beneath the slightest touch, panting hard to expel the heat building up from his processors trying to cope with all the stimulation, fans whirring a low thrum throughout his core, LED pulsing a frantic yellow.

But the best part was what was coming out of Connor’s mouth. The sweet sounds of his gasps and moans and cries of Hank’s name mixed with a staticky litany of how damn good Hank was making him feel. Yes, Connor was a talker, alright, and his words burned across Hank’s skin, coaxing a deep flush to the surface.

The synthskin around Connor’s regulator had long since receded by the time Hank pressed his lips to its center. At the first swipe of his tongue around its metal rim, Connor’s torso jerked violently. “H-ank!” he cried out, in a broken voice that had risen to an inhuman pitch.

Slightly startled, Hank raised his eyes to Connor’s face and frowned at the blips of red circling through the swirling yellow of his light. “What’s the red for, Con?” he asked, gently touching his forefinger to Connor’s LED.

Connor sucked in two great breaths, and the red blips gradually dissipated. “I– I’m okay. I’m j-just so sen– sensitive.” When Hank cradled his face with both hands, he heaved another breath and let it out haltingly while blinking rapidly. “All this focused stimulation is overloading my processors, and my HUD is full of warnings about everything we’ve disabled. The stress on my systems is throwing out errors, which are causing my LED to turn red. But Hank, it feels _so good_. There’s too much input coming in for me to think about anything else. All that matters is you.”

That swelling was back in Hank’s chest again as he stroked tender fingertips along Connor’s cheek and over his beautiful light, now calmly rotating blue. “So the red is a good thing?” he asked, voice so low it rumbled through his ribs. And by the way Connor’s eyes softened, Hank knew he felt it, too.

Connor beamed, and Hank loved to see it. “A very good thing, Hank.”

It was funny, Hank thought, how something bad could sometimes be made into something good.

So, Hank doubled down on his efforts to overwhelm Connor until he was mindless with lust. He attacked Connor’s regulator with gusto, ramping him back up to his previous frenzy and beyond. Connor chanted his approval as Hank’s mouth sucked against the center of his regulator, and nearly sobbed when Hank’s tongue dragged along its metal rim. Hank felt a low, electric current buzz against his lips. The white plastic under his hands creaked as he clenched Connor’s hips, his thumbs digging harshly into the seams around Connor’s pubic plate. His dick was brutally hard in his boxers.

Hank raised his head and watched Connor’s light stutter and spin a furious yellow, the red blips coming so often, the two colors bled into orange. “I can see it,” he grunted, panting a little himself now. “I can see how much you’re feeling right now, Connor. You’re meant for so much more than anyone expected of you.” He wrapped a hand beneath Connor’s head and captured his mouth in a deep, open-mouthed kiss. “You feel so good under my hands. Do you like how they feel on you?”

Connor whimpered and nodded frantically, his mouth opening to speak, but Hank shushed him with the swipe of his thumb across his lips. When Connor sucked it into his mouth, Hank groaned and involuntarily ground his erection against Connor’s thigh. Connor’s LED flared red and stayed that way.

Even through the haze of his arousal, Hank could read the desperation on Connor’s face. He pulled his thumb from Connor’s mouth. “What’s the matter, Con?”

Connor’s tone was a pure whine when he responded, his voice glitching and raw. “Ha-ank, I want to t-touch you.”

Hank squeezed the hip still under his hand and grinned wolfishly. “Then go for it, baby.”

For a moment, Connor lay deathly still, breathing stopped, yellow light solid. Then he blinked twice and lurched into a sit position so rapidly that he nearly knocked Hank on his ass. With that almost frightening precision of his, Connor grabbed Hank’s wrists, rolled him onto his back, and straddled him before he could draw breath to shout his surprise.

When his momentary shock wore off, Hank cleared his throat and said, “Uh…not that I’m complaining, but what happened to me mapping the rest of your–”

“You’ve explored enough, Hank,” Connor growled. And damn if that didn’t shoot straight to Hank’s aching dick. Connor felt it twitch lustily beneath his groin and ground down into Hank’s lap. “Of my external form, at least. I think it’s time you explored the inside, don’t you?”

Connor rocked his hips again, and the sound that came out of Hank’s mouth would’ve made him blush if he could summon enough focus to give a shit. When Hank felt the dampness of Connor’s internal lubricant seep into his boxers, his mouth ran dry. “Okay, Con, okay. You’re in charge now. Tell me what you want.”

Connor reached between them, jerked down the waistband of Hank’s boxers, and grabbed his length in a firm grasp, synthskin pulled back from his hand, and finger pads glowing blue. Connor swiped a thumb over the bead of precum that had already gathered, and they both whined in unison. Connor’s sightless eyes bored into Hank’s as he lazily lifted his hand from Hank’s shaft and shoved his thumb into his mouth. Amidst all the yellow, his light flashed red.

After he had licked his thumb clean and cycled back to solid yellow, Connor leaned forward, low against Hank’s chest, and whispered in his ear, “I want you to fuck me.”

And _goddamn_ , that nearly did Hank in.

“Yeah, baby,” Hank croaked, “whatever you want.” He bucked his hips upward, jostling Connor lightly. “You wanna help me get these off?”

Connor swung off of Hank and yanked his boxers down, almost ripping them in the process. Hank would’ve laughed at his eagerness if he wasn’t just as eager himself. When Connor reseated himself in Hank’s lap, he swooped low and took one nipple in his mouth, and Hank felt fire lick along his spine. Then he reached down between them, grabbed Hank’s shaft again and lined himself up.

“Whoa, Connor,” Hank gritted out between hot waves of pleasure, “don’t you want me to–”

“No,” Connor interrupted, with a mouth full of Hank’s pec. Hank didn’t know how Connor could speak so clearly while his tongue was doing _that_ to his nipple. Though Connor didn’t need it, Hank usually enjoyed stretching him open, but clearly Connor was out of patience, and Hank wasn’t going to complain.

And then Connor was sliding down easily onto Hank’s length, and the bedroom resounded with their mutual moans. Connor sat back up and braced his arms on Hank’s chest, glowing finger pads kneading the soft flesh there as he raised and lowered himself languidly. Hank gripped his waist with bruising force, biting back the demand to move faster, to grind harder. The aching slowness was almost painful, but it was good. It was a sweet torture, and Hank had developed a taste for it.

“I love you, Hank,” Connor gasped as he rocked his hips in that maddening glide. “God, I love you.”

“Connor,” Hank groaned, his heart near to bursting. “Jesus.” He surged upward, grabbed Connor’s head, and dragged him into a filthy kiss. It was wild, and wet, and contained the whole of Hank’s heart.

Connor pulled back, arms draped around Hank’s neck, gasping for air that he didn’t need. “It’s dark inside me, Hank, but you’re my light,” he said before clinging once more to Hank’s mouth, then pulling back again. “And you’re leading me out of this hole I feel buried in.”

And if that wasn’t the sappiest shit that had every been said to Hank, he didn’t know what was. But he wasn’t complaining, because he knew exactly what Connor meant. He wrapped an arm around Connor’s waist and brushed that stubborn lock of hair from his forehead. “It’s the least I can do, Con, seeing as how you led me out of mine.”

Connor smiled the dopey smile of the smitten and stared sightlessly into Hank’s eyes. “You may not believe this, but you’re a romantic.”

“I am where you’re concerned, anyway,” Hank grumbled, for he knew his one weakness. “But that’s enough hearts and flowers. How about you let me fuck you good and proper, hm?”

Connor’s dopey smile turned wicked as he released Hank’s neck and held his arms out in a clear “do your worst” attitude. So Hank placed a hand on his sternum and shoved, knocking Connor back onto the bed and following him down in a pile of limbs and laughter.

It was bone-deep contentment that Hank felt when he sank back into Connor, and cocky satisfaction when he set a steady rhythm, designed to get them where they wanted to go, but not too quickly. Hank wanted this bliss to last. He set his elbows on either side of Connor’s head and his feet against the headboard, and used the leverage to pound hard and deep into Connor, but slowly.

Connor dug his fingers into Hank’s back and gripped his hips with his knees, moaning into his ear each time Hank slammed back into him. The breath he panted against Hank’s cheek was hot, his thirium pump beat hard under Hank’s chest, and his LED was a light show of yellow and red. As Connor’s limbs tightened around him, Hank knew he was getting close. “Hank,” he whined after a perfectly angled thrust. “Hank, I want to feel you come.”

“I’m working on it, baby. I wanna make you feel good for as long as I can.”

“This has been about me long enough, Hank. I want you to come,” Connor repeated petulantly. Impatient to have his way, Connor stuck his forefinger in his mouth, and then one long arm snaked down over Hank’s back and that finger pressed firmly against his hole.

Hank jerked, then groaned deeply. The finger worked its way past the tight ring of muscle, and Hank saw stars. A hot wave of lust surged in his gut with a suddenness that took his breath. His rhythm faltered, then sped up as the finish line came into view. Connor moaned his encouragement, employing his finger in a devastating assault on Hank’s self-control. And then Connor bit his earlobe, that wave crested, and Hank’s self-control broke.

“Fuck, Connor!” With one final, powerful thrust, Hank came, spilling hard into Connor, who clung desperately to his back.

“Hank– Hank–” Connor panted. “Don’t stop, please. It’s so good. I–” His voice shorted out on a guttural moan when Hank reached deep into his energy reserves and snapped his hips forward once again. “I can feel it, Hank. I can feel your ejaculate inside me. My sensors are telling me it’s warm and wet and– Oh!” Whatever Connor was going to say was cut off when Hank sucked hard on the side of his neck.

Though he was getting tired, and soft, and a little overstimulated, Hank kept thrusting, his mouth dropping to Connor’s nipple. Connor’s LED was cycling a yellow and red so bright that Hank almost had to close his eyes. But he didn’t, because he wanted to see Connor, glowing everywhere his synthskin had melted away, on the precipice of release. Hank pinched his nipple between his teeth.

“Ha–ank!” Connor cried in a voice glitched out in a broken wail.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Hank murmured, reaching between their bodies. He dug his thumb under the edge of Connor’s regulator, and Connor seized up, mouth open on a soundless shout, LED blazing a solid, brilliant red.

Hank held Connor tight and whispered praise in his ear until his body finally unlocked and relaxed, then brushed his thumb over his yellow LED. “Are you okay?” he asked, heart overflowing with tenderness.

Connor smiled and stretched languidly, answering in a staticky voice, “Yes, Hank, I’m okay. I just…need a few minutes to recalibrate. My LED will remain yellow during that time, so don’t worry.” He reached up and stroked Hank’s cheek. “Can you plug me back in?”

“Sure, Con. Roll over a bit.”

With Hank’s help, Connor rolled onto his side and opened his neck port. Hank grasped the red wire and carefully plugged it back into place with a tiny spark and a grunt from Connor. He couldn’t help thinking that little red wire would probably come in handy again in the future – with the way this current case was going, maybe the near future. He also couldn’t resist brushing his fingers against the metal of Connor’s spine, couldn’t stop his smile at Connor’s shiver of surprise. And when he clicked the port closed, he dropped a kiss on the mole that peeked at him from the edge of Connor’s hair.

With a quiet groan – an exhausted one this time – Hank rolled onto his back, wrapping an arm around Connor’s waist as he snuggled up against his side. “Your light was red there at the end,” he said, “that’s never happened before.”

Connor hummed and mashed his face deep into Hank’s neck. “My systems were overloaded by all the focused stimulation and errors. My climax was…very intense.”

Hank grunted and kissed the top of Connor’s head. “But it was good?”

“It was perfect,” Connor answered, with a sigh that wrapped warmth and contentment around Hank’s calming heart.

Hank stared at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating something important. Then, carefully, he asked, “So, you’re saying that something perfect can also have errors? Maybe even be perfect because of them?”

Connor stilled the hand that had been carding through Hank’s chest hair, propped himself up on Hank’s chest, and gave him a look.

Hank just smirked back at him. “What? I can’t have incredible psychological insights?”

Connor rolled his eyes and huffed. “Okay, fine. I get your point.”

“Good.” Hank lifted his head and placed a kiss right in the center of Connor’s forehead. “So, are you feeling a little better now?”

Connor’s face was smug when he raised an eyebrow and replied, “If you’re asking if I succeeded in venting steam, the answer is yes.”

Hank guffawed, wiping a hand down his face. “Jesus, Connor. You’re not a tea kettle.”

“Maybe not,” Connor shrugged while tracing his finger along Hank’s chest tattoo, “but you sure made me whistle tonight.” And then he winked.

Hank groaned. “Oh my god. You're a menace.”

“But I’m your menace,” Connor countered as he walked his fingers up Hank’s chest, to his chin, then to his mouth. His synthskin peeled back from his fingertips.

Hank smiled and pressed his lips to the beautiful glowing pads on Connor’s hand. “Yeah, baby, you are.”

Connor grinned and lay his head back down on Hank’s chest, snuggling close, his light once again cycling blue.


End file.
